Damages
by TheMoonAlwaysFalls
Summary: Because a tumultuous, short-term affair couldn't really affect his life this much, could it? - Kakashi/OC; sex and violence, spans pre-canon through canon verse
1. Exposition

**Pre-Note:** _Takes place approximately eight years before the start of the Naruto canon, meaning that Kakashi is almost twenty years old. The Land of Rice and the Rice Village, as far as I know, are not real places in the Naruto universe. I have taken a little creative license in their creation. Please enjoy._

_As always, I do not own _Naruto_ in any shape or form. If I did, I wouldn't be freaking out about student loans._

* * *

The real problem with escorting nobles, Kakashi decided, did not lie with the act of guarding them. In fact, nobles were very easy to guard; they rarely ever left their carriages unless they desperately had to pee, and taking them off into the woods on a pee break was a simple task. Nobles tended not to converse with the hired help either, more out of fear that money was not the driving force behind shinobi's actions than anything else, really. No, the problem with guarding nobles was nothing that they actively _did_.

The problem was just that Kakashi hated listening to them _talk_.

Nobles were supposed to be a well-educated, knowledgeable set filled with astute observations and talents relating to flower configurations and tea-pouring. However, the most knowledgeable thing Kakashi had yet gleaned from their ceaseless chatter that the daughter of the daimyo of the Land of Tea was sleeping with a man three times her age and three times as wealthy as her father while already being married to the Kazekage's third cousin twice removed. This was nothing that Kakashi necessarily needed (or cared) to know, but it could prove to be useful information in a pinch so he filed the tidbit away in the back of his mind for safekeeping.

Kakashi had been advised numerous times to simply use his internal filter to drown out what the nobles said as they bumped along in their carriage, but he had yet to actually apply his internal filter. How could he? His job was to be observant to his surroundings, and if he was ignoring his charges (however useless their banter was), then he was ignoring his surroundings. But fuck, did these rich morons know how to carry on a meaningless conversation.

"Excuse me, Mr. Shinobi?" One of the nobles, a portly young fellow with round, rosy cheeks and blonde hair, stuck his head out of the carriage window. If the blush stain on his cheeks was any indication, the guy was already well on his way to being falling-down drunk before he ever even reached the wedding he was scheduled to attend. "How much longer until we reach the gate?"

They weren't far from the border of the Land of Rice, perhaps an hour away. Kakashi told the man as much. "And maybe two hours from the Village of Rice."

"What excellent timing!" The man drooled a tad. He wiped away the string of saliva hanging from his slack, drunken mouth. "We certainly appreciate you getting us here a day ahead! We did so want to help out with the wedding!"

The wedding was the hottest topic and the subject of rumors both admirable and scandalous. Most of the rumors had been started by the bridal party (apparently, her side of the family was chock full of no-class, no-talent, shinobi grunts). Kakashi seriously doubted that this section of the bridal party would be doing anything in regards to the wedding other than drinking all of the champagne.

"It's what you're paying us for. We're happy to comply."

"Of course, of course!" the noble exclaimed before ducking back into the carriage. He'd left a few droplets of sweat on the ground from where his delicate skin had perspired against the melting humidity.

Since departing from Kohonagakura, Kakashi had decided no less than seven times that his assignment to this mission was meant as a punishment for some previous slight against the Hokage (or the village elders, who, for some reason, did not particularly care for him). He was Copy-Nin Hatake Kakashi for goodness sake, Kohona's most resilient and feared jounin, a close second to the Hokage himself in strength, power, and general infamy. The red in his ledger could have painted every building in Kohona. He simply didn't get assigned to dignitary missions (much less _wedding duty_) without having fucked something up entirely spectacularly at some point beforehand.

Oh, sure, Sandaime-sama had assured Kakashi that this mission would be a piece of cake, like a paid vacation, really. He'd get to spend a week in the Land of Rice supervising the team of jounin guarding the bridal party. He got free food, housing, and booze. He didn't even have to guard anyone himself (but if he wanted to keep an eye on the bride, well, that would be _much appreciated_, shoulder-slap, annoyingly fake guffaw).

He was _told_ that he would be having a fun romp through the socialite circuit of the Land of Rice, partying with a bunch of rich benefactors (and the daimyo's son, who happened to be the groom). What he _heard_ was that he would be standing around, watching a bunch of rich pricks and old ladies drink themselves into alcohol poisoning.

Kakashi was going to have a fun week.

A little less than two hours later, the gates of the Village of Rice loomed into view. The gates were hideous iron erections with ugly spiked tips and were possibly compensating for the fact that the village was woefully undermanned in terms of shinobi power. There were a few power players roaming the streets, but not enough to make up for the fact that the village had to hire shinobi from it's allied countries to lend a hand at a _wedding_. Two of said power players were waiting to welcome the party to the village, and Kakashi gladly handed the carriage off to the taller of the two guards.

The guard took the main horse's lead. He was tall and dark-skinned, with a wide mouth that made him almost androgynous. "Any trouble getting here from Konoha?"

Kakashi shook his head. "No. Maybe it'll be a quiet week."

The guard sighed, tugging gently on the horse's lead. "If the daimyo's son is involved, it's gonna be hell."

"So I've heard, but he's not my problem," Kakashi replied. He wanted to be empathetic towards the guard, he really did, but he'd heard about the daimyo's son's previous antics and breathed a sigh of happy relief. There was one bullet he was exceptionally glad to have dodged. "I'm on vacation."

"More power to you then, Hatake," the guard replied, pulling the horses through the gate.

The team of jonin that had accompanied Kakashi filed in behind him. He turned to face them; as soon as he conducted his debriefing, he was essentially free to do whatever he wished. He was on vacation. Gross.

"The three of you have been assigned to your charges. You'll be posing as their dates for the week, which means you'll be sleeping in the same room as them. The Hokage said that we don't have the resources to handle another international scandal, so please don't kill your charge and please don't get your charge pregnant."

Kakashi paused, waiting for questions. He received nothing but hushed snickering, so he continued. "Debriefings will be held in the lobby of the jonin compound twice a day: once at eight a.m. and once at nine p.m. Don't be late. Don't skip out."

The girl who was, in effect, his second in command rolled her eyes. "That includes you, taicho. Don't be late."

Kakashi fixed her with an even glare. "I'm on vacation. You work to _my_ schedule."

The girl shrugged. "Right, anyway. Just don't be late to the wedding tomorrow, taicho. Nobles don't like it when you skip the party."

Right, the wedding. He wasn't looking forward to that. Not only would he have to sit still for hours (which he wasn't comfortable with on the best of days), but he would have to sit still for hours in a dress kimono. He would also probably be settled somewhere near the bride (for good measure, wink wink, nudge nudge, you're not really on vacation like they keep telling you) so that he could keep a close eye on her, which meant people would be paying attention to him. That, he could most certainly do without.

Kakashi led his team into the village behind the carriage filled with nobles. Vacation, right. And that carriage was actually filled with nobles. He was almost certain that the bride's side of the family was cashing in on the new husband's extensive dime. He wasn't part of the economically elite, but he had been escorting them from place to place long enough to know that nobles didn't just stick their heads out of the carriage to ask how much longer. Nobles sat around quietly and only acknowledged their escorts if they had to take a piss.

Upon reaching the nobles' hotel, Kakashi split away from the group due to his increasing lack of importance. He had given his team their orders, and that was the best he could do. The success of the mission now rested firmly on their (inexperienced) shoulders.

He had only a vague idea of where the shinobi compound was located, mostly due to half-assed directions some chunin had given him at the gates. Of course, since he was on "vacation," he really had nowhere important to be; wandering the Rice Village aimlessly wasn't the worst thing he could be doing. It was rather pleasant actually, shuffling down the warm streets with the sting of spices under his nose.

The shinobi compound was barely visible in the distance, but getting settled in was the last thing on Kakashi's mind. The lack of food over the past two days had his stomach roiling. The heady scent of tea and sweet rolls was drifting from the shop at the end of the street, and his stomach was directing him rather forcibly to the entrance. If he was lucky, maybe the place was a restaurant as well as a pastry shop. If nothing else, there was tea, and that would be enough to satiate him.

A bell over the door dinged as he pushed the glass open. The shop was small and cozy, with small tables surrounded by plush cushions. The bar was high, as were the bar stools, but Kakashi was easily tall enough to see over the bar. Behind the bar, a woman polished a miniscule teacup with a clean, white cloth. There was only one other person besides himself and the waitress: a pretty redheaded girl sipped tea in the far corner as she sat engrossed in a novel.

The waitress beamed at him as he sat down at the table to the left of the redhead. "Hey, sweetie! Can I get you something to drink?"

He nodded shortly. "Tea, please."

"Sure thing! I'll set a pot on for you!" The waitress busied herself with pressing tea leaves into a kettle. "Anything to eat? I can make anything you want."

Kakashi fiddled with the hem of his mask. "What's the special?"

"Kaeda-chan's miso soup is the best in the village."

From her position at the adjacent table, the redhead made her presence known. The girl had stored her book in some unknown pouch, and she was observing Kakashi with particular interest, her small smirk hidden partially behind the hand currently toying with her bottom lip.

The waitress, Kaeda, shushed the redhead. "Let him choose for himself, Obata-san! Maybe he doesn't like miso soup!"

Deep within Kakashi's most primal psyche, he began to salivate with anticipation . He would always be ready for a good bowl of miso soup. "That sounds excellent, actually."

The redhead smiled triumphantly. "I can always tell what a man likes to eat."

"Hush, Obata! Don't brag!" Kaeda leaned over the edge of the bar top. "You look far too thin, dear! Are you sure you wouldn't like more to your meal?"

"No, thank you, Kaeda-san. Miso soup is quite enough."

His treacherous stomach growled, betraying him. Obata clearly heard it gurgle. "I'll bet he'd like ribs, too. You can put it on my ticket, Kaeda-san."

Kakashi was used to women fawning over him, cooing about how he was so mysterious or trying desperately to incite his desire. He wouldn't accuse either one of these women of fawning over him, though the redhead had been eyeing him rather appreciatively, but he wasn't going to complain if these two ladies wanted to pay attention to him. He was rather enjoying the attention, particularly the redhead's.

Kaeda was a pleasant, middle-aged woman with a sweet face and graying hair, rather motherly in demeanor. She was preparing his tea tray while Obata was stacking her dishes up. The redhead, well, was easy on the eyes, and she was smirking at him like she already knew what he looked like naked.

While the waitress arranged his tea tray on the table, Obata slid onto the cushion next to him, storing her pack underneath the table. "You're a long way from Konoha, aren't you?."

There was no need to ask how she knew where he was from; he was wearing his headband. Kakashi swished his tea around in his cup, but didn't take a sip. "I'm here for the wedding."

From the sharp aroma drifting from the lip of the cup, the liquid was in Obata's teacup wasn't actually tea. "Ah, yes. The daimyo's son's wedding. Will you be sitting on the bride's side or the groom's side?"

"The bride's side," Kakashi replied smoothly. Yes, it was definitely sake in her cup, though she appeared quite sober.

Obata set the empty tea cup to the side. "As protection or as a friend?"

"Friend. I'm on vacation." Not _entirely_ untrue, but he couldn't very well admit that he was kind of a wedding-crasher, now could he?

She folded her arms across her chest as she reclined back on the cushion. The motion pushed her breasts up nicely, and it took a substantive amount of willpower on his part not to sneak a peek. "Is that right? The bride must be very well connected indeed to have made a friend out of Hatake Kakashi."

Beneath the mask, he smirked. "How did you know?"

Obata rested her chin in her hand. "Most hunter-nin own a Bingo Book, you know. And you're not exactly incognito."

"So then you must be a hunter-nin, Obata-san?"

Her grin widened. "Whatever would give you that idea, Kakashi-san? I was merely offering information."

Kaesa barged out of the kitchen door behind the bar carrying a tray laden with a rack of barbecued ribs and a wide, healthy bowl of miso soup. She sat the tray down in front of him, and his stomach gurgled eagerly as the perfect aroma set his nasal sensors on fire. He waited until Kaeda turned her back and Obata looked the other way before inhaling a quarter of the bowl of soup.

He settled his mask back atop his nose just as Obata looked back around at him. From the slight upward quirk of her eyebrows and lips, she wasn't so much surprised by his stealthy food consumption as she was amused.

She nodded in appreciation. "You're good, Hatake-san."

"I don't recognize your name from the Book, Obata-san," Kakashi observed. He took her compliment in stride; he rarely ever acknowledged compliments paid to him.

She shrugged. "Well, I wouldn't be much of a hunter-nin if you recognized me, now would I?"

"So, you do admit to being a hunter-nin?"

Obata reached across his arm and picked at the fatty edge of one of his ribs. "I wasn't aware they existed at all, of course. I'm just a civilian."

She had no discernable scars across the exposed parts of her anatomy (her face and arms), so he couldn't disprove her claim. She was also not wearing anything to represent the Land of Rice, so he couldn't determine whether she was a shinobi or not. If she was, he still didn't recognize her surname. To his immediate recollection, he could not recall anyone by the last name of Obata.

Kaeda peered over the bar. "Obata-san, it's getting rather late, isn't it?"

Obata checked the clock above Kaeda's head. It was nearly three in the afternoon; Kakashi had in the restaurant for nearly an hour. "It is, isn't it? I should be going, I guess."

"You would've stayed here the rest of the day if I hadn't said something," Kaeda huffed. The sweet waitress busied herself with arranging another tea tray to replace Kakashi's empty one.

"Well, you're not wrong," Obata said, standing up. She gathered up her small pack and slung it over her pack before draining the last of the liquid in her teacup. "I'll look for you at the wedding tomorrow, Hatake-san."

Kakashi nodded, appreciating the redhead's form at her full height. "Perhaps we'll be arranged near each other."

Obata smirked. "I do hope so. We could steal the spotlight from the happy couple."

She was close to him, her hip nearly pressing into his side. He enjoyed the warmth and the sweet scent of orange blossoms (and, perhaps, the warm undertone of sake) drifting off of her, and he sincerely hoped that they _would_ be seated close together.

"We could," Kakashi agreed. He closed his visible eye for a moment, and when he opened it again, he was staring Obata straight in the face.

Obata leaned down and hooked her fingers under Kakashi's chin; she toyed with the clingy fabric of his mask, rubbing it between the tips of her thumb and forefinger. "Perhaps then, if you feel up to it, you would like to meet me back here the day after tomorrow? Say around noon?"

Kakashi's fingers grazed her thigh, but he didn't actively make the move to hold her there. "I don't see why not."

Her lips were centimeters from grazing the fabric of his mask. "If I close my eyes, could I leave you with a little extra incentive to meet me here again?"

The temptation to close the tiny gap between them made him light-headed. "I insist that you do."

Obata closed her eyes and gently tugged his mask down past him lips. The light rubbing of the soft fabric was replaced by her smooth, warm lips on his. Kakashi almost couldn't bring himself to close his one visible eye; he wanted to watch her soft lips mold so perfectly to his. His hand snaked around her thigh, pulling her closer to him. She smirked into the kiss and pressed against him roughly, pushing him back in his seat.

When she pulled away, he followed; she pressed another softer, quicker kiss on on his lips before slipping his mask back up over his nose. When she opened her eyes, she smiled at him instead of smirking, affection brightening her grin.

She ran her thumb over his clothed bottom lip. The soft sensation sent a jolt all the way from his lips and down through his groin where it settled into a tingling sensation at the backs of his thighs. "No matter what happens at the wedding tomorrow, don't forget: Noon, Wednesday." She laced her fingers through the fingers of the hand currently holding her thigh and disentangled them from the fabric of her pants. "I'll be waiting."

"I'll be here."

Obata winked at him and gave a wave of her fingers before turning and exiting the restaurant.

From her spot behind the bar, Kaeda sighed as she wiped down a wet teacup with a clean cloth. "That girl is trouble, trouble."

Kakashi finished off his bowl of miso soup and began to rip the meat of his ribs from the bones. His experiences with women were few and far between, but from the few he had, trouble seemed to follow him. "What kind of trouble?"

Kaeda walked out from behind the bar and sat up on the stool, duties forgotten. "You know the kind of trouble that eventually ends up in kids and a decent family?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, she ain't it," the woman replied, brushing a strand of graying hair out of her eyes. "I love the girl, I do, with all my soul in fact, but I just don't understand her."

"I see." No, he didn't _really_ see, but he had the deepest suspicion that he was going to find out pretty quickly what the woman meant.

Kaeda studied him for the longest time, taking in everything from his expressionless eye to the way his fingers curled as if still gripping Obata's thigh. "No, you don't, but you will."

He didn't respond.

"But if I could give you some advice, Hatake-san, it would be this: when you figure out that you love her, you'll love her forever. But be better than the rest. Make her love you back."

When he pulled his money out, Kaeda assured him several times over that his meal had already been paid for. Kakashi finished his meal and left without paying.

* * *

**A/N:** Rating will go up very shortly.


	2. Shinobi Intuition

_Every civilization is, among other things, an arrangement for domesticating the passions and setting them to do useful work. ~ Aldous Huxley_

* * *

Morning in the Land of Rice dawned clear and bright, and Kakashi was awake to watch the light of day bleed red and orange across the sky. The shinobi compound in the Rice Village was surprisingly comfortable and plush for a military facility. Even so, Kakashi had never been comfortable sleeping anywhere that wasn't home. He had gotten perhaps a healthy three hours of sleep in his unfamiliar setting, but he found it oddly satisfying to watch the sun rise, even at the price of rest.

The wedding would take place in less than six hours. At exactly eleven o'clock that morning, he would be seated in the second row on the bride's side of the room. He would not be focused on the happy couple. Instead, he would be eying the rest of the room for possible insurgents. Of course, since he was on vacation, he wasn't getting paid to make sure disaster didn't strike, but it was in his nature to remain constantly vigilant in all situations.

According to custom (and Sandaime Hokage), he would have to suffer the annoyance of sitting still for a long period of time dressed in nice clothing. His dress kimono hung from the knob near the top of the bathroom door; it was simple and black with spiraling silver designs spreading across it. It was also unbearably thick and hot, even in the cool weather.

Kakashi arched his back, stretching out the knots of exhaustion that had begun to form. He was tempted to sneak down into the kitchen to see if he could bribe one of the cooks to give him an early breakfast, but it was unlikely that the cooks would even arrive for work until around seven, more than an hour later.

Instead, he tugged his mask over his face, tied his headband on, and slipped out the window.

The morning air was cold and clear, as of yet untouched by the warming rays of the sun. Land of Rice had transitioned into late fall and still had a while before the first snow fell. He couldn't imagine that winter could be prettier than fall; the leaves on the trees were every shade of orange and red, yellow and brown. Fallen leaves crinkled under his feet as he walked through the cold morning. Kakashi had never seen the Land of Rice when it was snowed over, though it was rumored to turn the landscape into a beautiful powdered haven.

He walked down the deserted main street, crunching dead leaves as he went.

The tea shop from yesterday was the only shop that seemed to currently support life so early in the morning. A group of older men whom Kakashi assumed to be a handful of the village's older shinobi were crowded around the middle table inside. To their left, Kaeda carried a tray of tea.

The perfect smell of morning tea was too great to resist, so Kakashi succumbed to the urge to wander inside.

Kaeda bustled the tea tray over to the side and hurried over to where Kakashi sat. "Good morning, Hatake-san! I didn't expect to see you so early today!"

He had chosen to sit down at the table next to the old men, most of whom were staring at him with intense interest. "I didn't expect to be here. I hope you're doing well this morning, Kaeda-san."

"Oh, it's so early! I'm tired as can be! Can I get you some tea?" the waitress tittered brightly. When he nodded, she fled into the backroom to begin cooking up his mystery breakfast.

The old men continued to stare at him interestedly, but he paid them no mind. He was well-versed in the practice of ignoring annoying gapes and even more practiced in overlooking hushed comments. He had walked through villages of people stained by blood, carrying the heads of murderers in his hands. He had paraded through encampments of enemy refugees bearing the public order to kill their leader. He did not blush so easily under the stares of men.

One of the men finally spoke. "Hatake Kakashi? It's an honor to have you in the village."

Kakashi knew good and well that it was no such honor. He was a man that most people fled from; if anything, these elders saw him as more of an omen than an honor.

The man continued to speak. "May I be so curious as to ask why you've travelled all this way?"

Ah, yes, the innocent questioning of his business.

"I'm here for the wedding," Kakashi replied smoothly, accepting the steaming cup of tea that Kaeda handed to him. He set it down on it's coaster to cool. "Trying to use up some long overdue vacation time."

Another elder, a man with waist-length gray hair, nodded sagely. "Ah, yes. Have you been to see the decorations? It's going to be an enormous party."

"I think I'll let the setting be a surprise." Kakashi swished his tea around in his cup. "As a shinobi, a positive surprise is always welcome."

The old men chuckled in agreement, sipping their scalding coffees and teas. They went back to tittering to themselves, occasionally stealing glances Kakashi's way whenever he tugged his mask down to take a sip of boiling hot tea.

Kakashi finished his tea and finally began to feel the fatigue of a sleepless night. He calculated the amount of sleep he could get before the wedding with the five hours left he had and surmised that a good two-hour nap was most definitely within his reach.

The old men had been fundamentally wrong about the grandeur of the wedding just by understating the sheer _size_ of it. It was being held inside a concert hall; the stage had been cleared away and a runway of thick red carpet had replaced it. Hundreds of chairs had been lined up on either side of the aisle in rows. The walls had even been painted brilliant blinding white for the occasion. Flowers lined the sides of the middle aisle and were wound through the diamond-shaped holes in the trellis arch.

Kakashi had been seated in the third row near the middle aisle, just as he had expected. It wasn't so close to the daimyo's son that he would look suspicious, but he wasn't so far away that he wouldn't be able to get to him should disaster strike. He was seated on the bride's side, so no one would be the wiser. In fact, he wasn't exactly out of place among the bride's family and friends.

Most of the guests on the bride's side were shinobi from the village. The men had obviously not been given a dress code; most, if not all, of the shinobi males wore the standard village uniform of black bodysuit and a gray flak jacket. The women wore unimpressive, austere kimonos, and a few of them were even still dressed in their jounin uniforms. Kakashi envied them; he was currently being suffocated by his heavy, stiff dress kimono.

The hall had filled up quickly; anyone who showed up late would be barred from the procession and would not be able to attend, therefore forfeiting bragging rights. This was standard procedure with political weddings, though Kakashi had been assured by several members on both the bride and groom's sides of the wedding that it was totally _not_ a political marriage. That was the funny thing about political marriages: they were _never, ever_ for power. They were _love stories_ about a man and a woman destined to meet. They were everything except power plays and wealth grabs.

Kakashi was curious as to who the bride was; that, he had not been able to find out. She was merely a daughter of the Hotaru clan; no name or age had been given, save her status as the heir to one of the most powerful families in the Rice Village.

The identity of the bride, Kakashi had been told, had been one of the biggest draws of the wedding, save for the fact that it was daimyo's son's wedding. She could be any one of the three daughters of the main branch of the Hotaru clan, two of whom were rarely ever seen due to their careers as kunoichi of the village. The third daughter acted as diplomat to the Land of Wind, and was therefore almost as hard to get hold of.

Truthfully, Kakashi was still at a loss as to why so many low-class knuckle-draggers who claimed to be part of the family had been invited, but he supposed that most families had their hillbillies hidden somewhere.

Fifteen minutes remained until the procession was slated to begin, and he had yet to spot a single member of his team. He hoped they remembered that the ceremony started at eleven; he had told them as much literally only two hours previously. Of course, he really wouldn't be surprised if they were having trouble forcing their charges to get a move on to get to the ceremony; as far as he could remember, his team had never been late (and had been the sole reason he himself hadn't missed their deadline).

Come to think of it, why had he been so early? It wasn't like he had to fight for seating. Perhaps he had developed an unhealthy interest in what was even taking place during the wedding? No, that didn't sound like him; he really had no interest other than a curiosity to find out who the bride was, and that was merely celebrity curiosity. Maybe he had just hoped that the sooner he got to the ceremony, the sooner he would be out of that dreadful kimono. Plus, he would be that much closer to his meeting with Obata-san.

Finally, his team had come through the door, each of the three jounin paired off with one of the hillbilly nobility. Machi, his second-in-command, looked irritated, but then she always seemed to be annoyed by something. The two other men seemed tired but content with their positions; the taller of the two was being manhandled by a woman three times his girth and the shorter man was being lavished with attention by a person whom Kakashi could not assign a binary gender to, and therefore reserved judgment.

Now that he had found his team, he could concentrate on trying to spot Obata-san. Not that he was desperate or anything; he would meet her again tomorrow. The concert hall was packed tight; there had to be nearly five-hundred people in attendance. As observant as Kakashi was, he would still be hard-pressed to spot her in the crowd, especially if she was anywhere near the back.

He totally, absolutely, was not being nosy. _At all._

Kakashi's curiosity was staunched (barely), or at least redirected, as the procession slowly hummed to life. The first to walk out were the bridesmaids, who were escorted out arm in arm with the groomsmen, some looking happier than others. Each wore matching kimonos; dark plum for the bridesmaids, pastel pink for the groomsmen. The pairs separated as they neared the daimyo's son; the men fell in behind him, the women settled in off towards the side behind the bride's place.

As the final bridesmaid took her place, the brice stepped out onto the aisle escorted by her father, and Kakashi, well, no longer had to search for Obata.

The room burst into a chorus of hushed whispers. The woman was clad entirely in white. She strutted down the aisle attached securely to her father's arm, staring ahead with her chin lifted high. Everyone in the room was captivated, Kakashi included, though he was more confused than hopelessly enamored at that point. Still, she was breathtaking, and he almost wished he was in the daimyo's son's position. Almost. (He really had no intention of getting married, if he even lived that long.)

As Obata passed by the third aisle where Kakashi was seated, she picked out his face in the crowd and caught his eye. She smiled sadly at him and turned her attention forward to the man who would become her husband.

Had she been intending to tell him that she was married? Had she even believed him when he said he was attending the wedding? She was a kunoichi, was she not? Statistically, she had a sixty-six percent chance of being a kunoichi if two of the three sisters were. So of course she knew his reputation since she had mentioned him by his nickname; she had most likely seen through his lies the moment he told them.

Kakashi's next question was, would she even show up at the tea shop tomorrow? And if she wasn't planning to, why had she kissed him?

He supposed he would find out at noon.

The non-kunoichi women in the vicinity were all sniffling and dabbing at their eyes delicately with tissues. A few of the men were even wiping emphatically at their cheeks with the sleeves of their uniforms. Personally, Kakashi had never been one to think that weddings were special enough to cry at, particularly not this one. The daimyo's son looked as though he was just ready to go home and get drunk. The groomsmen were eyeing the bridesmaids relentlessly, and the bridesmaids looked to be too tired to even function. Obata stared ahead blankly as if she were silently praying for the priest to hurry up and finish the vows. In all likelihood, she probably was.

Frankly, he was three lines of fake vows away from falling asleep in his chair.

"And do you, Hotaru Obata, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?" The priest watched her expectantly, his hand held outward waiting to join the two together.

Obata hesitated, but Kakashi doubted that anyone but him noticed. "I do."

The priest nodded to the daimyo's son. "Then you may now kiss the bride."

The nobleman swept his new bride backwards and planted a sound, wet kiss on her lips. Kakashi would have been lying if he said he didn't want to dig the man's fingernails out with kunai; he suppressed his desires quickly. He had done worse to better men for less than kissing a girl he liked. It was best if he pushed the thought of well-deserved murder out of his mind.

Kakashi caught a flash of Obata's severely irritated face before the new bride slapped on a sucrose happy smile. She took her new husband's hand as if it was diseased and allowed herself to be led out of the chapel among the clapping and the cheers.

An irritated bride is not a bride who wanted to be at her wedding. Obata seemed to have been irritated about her predicament, which meant two things: she didn't want to be a bride, and she wasn't on a mission.

All shinobi are trained actors; they have to be in order to play their roles effectively. Any shinobi worth their paycheck would have been able to slap on a happy grin and kiss back with some enthusiasm, but Obata looked more or less personally offended by physical contact with her groom. That was neither a shinobi on a mission, nor a happy bride.

The likely reason for her irritation and the sadness in her smile was that she had been caught in the middle of her family's attempt at a power play. Kakashi had seen the same thing happen in Konoha countless times; such activities came with the territory of being born into a tight-knit clan. In Konoha, if a child carried the name Hyuga or Sarutobi, they were almost guaranteed the same fate.

Perhaps, if he asked her, she would tell him, and perhaps she would explain why she wanted to see him again.

If the kiss was any indication, she didn't want to see him because he was a great conversationalist.

The reception was supposed to take place in the next hall over, and was open to everyone who sat in the first ten rows during the wedding. Those seats had been reserved for close friends and family, therefore only close friends and family had been invited to the reception. Kakashi, of course, was the obvious exception. He concluded that despite his promise of vacation, he had been planted in the third row for protection duty, which, coincidentally, had not been intended for solely during the wedding. He would have to keep an eye on the couple until the reception was over.

Too bad brutally beating and/or killing the daimyo's son would result in an international catastrophe that would plunge the Land of Fire and the Land of Rice into an all-out Shinobi War. Kakashi would simply have to keep doing what he did best: ignore his feelings and pretend that everything was hunky-dory and right with the world and that he didn't want to commit murder. Come to think of it, his life had been one long sequence of this so far… Eh, what was another day of unhealthy emotional suppression in the grand scheme of things?

The reception was just as elegant as the wedding had been. There were two long tables loaded down with food, a band playing in the far corner of the room, and a huge central table where the bride and groom would sit surrounded by the bridesmaids and groomsmen. The tables were draped with fine red linen tablecloths. Butlers patrolled the tiny spaces between tables, carrying tiny trays of cheeses and tall glasses of champagne. Kakashi noticed a sake bottle on the central table next to the daimyo's son's place.

Kakashi settled himself down at the table that held his namecard which was, thankfully, right next to the buffet table. Not that he would be eating; there were too many people who might see his face. But he could smell the food, and he could be happy with that (plus, his kimono had deep pockets and he was a master thief; he didn't need a take-out box for this reception).

Machi had somehow been placed at the table next to him, which Kakashi regarded as poor tactical planning. She should have at _least_ been on the other side of the room; that would have given them a better scope of their surroundings.

"So, taicho, are you actually going to eat or are you going to sit there and stare at the food again?" Machi asked, digging away happily at the mound of food on her plate. Her date seemed to have attached himself firmly to a sake bottle ten feet away and showed no signs whatsoever of detaching himself.

Kakashi had been skilled at avoiding questions practically since birth. "Are you keeping an eye on your client? He doesn't have to be murdered, you know. Alcohol poisoning still means you don't get paid."

Machi scowled. "He'll pass out before he gets alcohol poisoning. Or he'll throw it all up."

"Would you be willing to bet your paycheck on that?"

"...No."

Kakashi smirked beneath the mask. "Then I suggest you go give his mouth something better to do."

Machi huffed and pushed her plate away. "You're a perv, taicho."

"I meant that perhaps you should go feed him," Kakashi replied, chuckling as his lieutenant's face turned beet red. "Though if you'd like to go about it that way, I certainly won't stop you."

The lieutenant crossed her arms across her chest and watched as her client let out a mighty belch and tossed his empty sake bottle over his shoulder. "I feel a little sorry for the food."

"As do I, lieutenant."

Kakashi had always had perfect intuition; however, it wasn't until recently that he liked to think he had gotten his fantastic intuition from his father. He had been trained since he could walk to always be aware of his surroundings, and presently, his intuition suggested that he was being watched. The fine gray-white hairs on the back of his neck stood straight up; the source of such pertinent observation seemed to be coming from the left, near the main central table. He craned his neck to see who was watching him so closely.

From her seat at the center of the main table, Obata was analyzing him closely. Though she had been staring at him, she didn't back down when he caught her gaze. She smiled at him slightly, not even bothering to look around to see if someone might be watching. Then, she mouthed something at him.

Better shinobi than Kakashi (though there were few) could not read lips, much less do so at the distance away from which she sat. However, with the help of Sharingan, he could read her lips easily.

_Tomorrow._

He nodded, giving only the slightest inclination of his head.

Machi snapped her fingers. "Hello, taicho? Are you paying attention? My client is drowning in alcohol and I could really use your help getting him out of here."

"What?" Kakashi tore himself away from Obata (rather unwillingly). "Oh, right. Sure. We still want to get paid."

* * *

**A/N**: I write as quickly as my class and work schedules allow me to write. Sometimes, this means a little bit of a wait. Other times, I'm writing PWP and don't feel like bothering with my plotted stories. Speaking of which, there will be adult content. As always, I include a warning at the beginning of the first chapter that contains PWP. From then on, I rely on the rating to let my audience know that there's gonna be yummy delicious goodness. My best advice to you, dear lovelies, is to enjoy. 3

Before someone better acquainted with traditional Japanese weddings comes to bust my balls, I realize that perhaps my wedding scene doesn't depict an accurate Japanese wedding, but rather, a Western-style wedding. While I did research the usual course of a traditional Shinto wedding, I came upon a little tidbit of information that it has become popular in recent years to have a Western-style wedding. So I thought, why not have the important people who are probably unduly concerned with looking fashionable have a "trendy" wedding? (Besides, I probably couldn't do a traditional wedding justice.)


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